


Adiuva

by eydemons



Series: Ray, Please Shut Up [2]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 07:31:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8135581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eydemons/pseuds/eydemons
Summary: "I don’t know you but I need some place to stay for the night, my roommate’s getting some” AU





	

It's two in the morning. Two in the _fucking_ morning, Brad's been drifting in and out of sleep since ten, trying desperately to fall asleep  _and stay asleep_ for the early morning he had tomorrow. _A job interview._ The first one he's had in years.

It's two in the morning and someone is knocking on his apartment door.

He considers ignoring whoever the person is. This person, who  _won't stop knocking,_ and just going back to bed.

He does.

Or tries to.

They just won't give up. The knocking, while it started out fast and loud, over time got slower and quieter, a single tap at the door coming every two seconds. Brad stood up, placing his bare feet on the cold hard wood floor slowly, as he begrudgingly rubbed at his eyes and made his way to the door, throwing on a discarded shirt on as he went. 

Stumbling through the nearly pitch-black hallway, Brad slowly made it to his front door. Hands placed on the walls to guide him. Half asleep, he didn't even consider looking through the peep hole to make sure whoever was on the other side wasn't standing ready with a butcher knife. Unlocking the door Brad opened it towards him with a bit more force than normal.

Bad idea.

Apparently, this sweat pants wearing, _t-shirt inside out idiot,_ thought it'd be a good idea to fall asleep against his door. So, when Brad practically _slammed_ the door open, the stranger went flying into his apartment, tripping over himself before falling face first onto the ground.

"Fuck," the man muttered, and it was followed by a very audible groan, though his words slightly muffled by Brad's cold hard wood floor. "Ow, _fuck._ " Voice no longer muffled as the man pushed himself up off the ground, one hand supporting his nose, the other dangling by his side.

"Who the fu-"

A hiss of pain cut him off, "My nose is bleeding." the man declared in the dark.

"Okay," Brad said with finality, flicking on the light by the door, "That's just great," ready to kick the man out of his apartment, Brad made a slight sweeping motion with his hand, "Don't bleed on my floor." Pointing past the man and out the door, "Leave," he said.

"This is your _fucking_ fault!" the man replied, exasperated, his voice slightly muffled by the hand held in front of his mouth and nose. "Dude, what the fuck? A _person_ gets injured in your apartment - a very lovely apartment by the way, love the, uh, plants - and you're just gonna kick them out?" there's a smug sort of grin on the man's face, like he'd made a joke Brad didn't pick up on. 

Slumping to his side against the wall, Brad folds his arms over his chest and gives the man his best exasperated expression, which was hard by how tired he was, by how much his eyes drooped, _God, he needs to sleep._

Inside out t-shirt idiot just mirrored his expression back to him. The only difference being the blood stained to his face and shirt. The droop to his eyes was even the same.

After a moment of just glaring at each other, the man gave up, went back to holding his nose, and shook his head and Brad smirked slightly to himself for the unspoken victory. Brad's stare was ice cold, something he was not so secretly proud of. The man seemed to deflate after that, looking just as tired as Brad felt.

Pushing off the wall, Brad gave in slightly, too. " _Fuck,"_ he cursed quietly, sighing loudly, "Just wait here." 

"Nowhere else for me to go, homes." the man called after him as he made his way through the hall, flicking on the bathroom light as he went, grabbing a wad of toilet paper before returning.

"What the fuck does is that supposed to mean?" Brad asks, handing the toilet paper to the man, reaching past him to close the door before returning to his slumped-against-the-wall position. "And who are you?"

"Oh, uh, I'm Ray." he says, mirroring Brad once again and holding the folded toilet paper up to his nose after wiping his face the best he could. "And what's what supposed to mean? That there's nowhere else for me to go?" Ray scoffs, a forced looking, tired smirk on his face, "Listen, homes, just do not get a roommate. Ever. I'm serious. Unless you're fucking them, do not let anyone else live here." he shakes his head, "If you're not fuckin' them, they'll find someone else to fuck,  _I guarantee it._ Unless you make anagreement not to bring anyone home - not that we ever did that, I'm talking like, rhetorically," Ray pulls the toilet paper down from his nose, the blood had finally stopped flowing, being replaced with a nice purple bruise in the middle of the bridge of his nose. "- they'll still fucking do it when they think you're asleep."

Brad doesn't think Ray stopped to breath once during that whole rant, as he watches as he looks slightly out of breath. "Who _the fuck_ are you?" Brad asks again, face deadpan, though he's not angry, more so amused.

"Uh?" Ray scratches his neck, "Ray?" he says again, "Ray Person."

"Yeah?" Brad mocks, "And what do you want?"

Ray smirks before he replies, "Your name?"

Brad wants to throw up. Or sleep. Or both. At the same time. Maybe go out like that chick in Breaking Bad.

He tries on his best _"are you fucking kidding me face",_ but Ray's smirk grows into a grin, and if Brad wasn't so tired he'd want to punch his grin right off his face. Brad's the one to give up this time when Ray refuses to stop grinning at him, face stained red, skin around the eyes gone nearly permanently purple. It freaks Brad out. How many colours he could notice on one person at once. Red, purple, dark brown eyes, hair so dark it's nearly black, and - _what the fuck is wrong with him?_ "Brad." he says, before he can think, he's such an _idiot_. A drowsy fucking idiot with an equally drowsy, colourful hick standing across from him in the small foyer of his cheap apartment.

Ray's grin has finally subsided slightly, something Brad's grateful for. "Brad Colbert," he reiterates. _Fucking_ _moron._

Brad's getting sick of repeating himself, "What do you want?" he asks, using his clenched fist to rub at his eyes.

"What? Isn't it obvious? This is a booty call." Ray's an asshole. Something that hasn't taken Brad long to figure out. "If when I face planted at your feet wasn't a dead give away, I'm here to have sex with you."

Brad plays along, "At two in the morning?"

"It's a.. strange company I work for."

"And what company's that?"

"Brad Colbert Fuckers INC."

"That's the least imaginative thing I've ever heard."

"It's a work in progress."


End file.
